Red-Blooded Revenge
by Forseti Purge
Summary: Because you don't put this past Heller, do you?
1. Chapter 1

Funny how life worked the way it did.

Two years ago, my empire had crumbled to ashes. The federales thoroughly hunted my puppets, forced them to rat each other, tossed them behind the bars. Good thing I'd been prepared. Soon as I heard of the death of that old man I'd brainwashed, I forged my death, relocated, took up a new identity. I even picked up a new face, which, considering how surgeries went these days, was nothing but a routine procedure.

As far as the world knew, as far as _he _knew, I was dead in that park.

I was alive. Still in the game, even. How could I not be? The simplest way to ensure those hunting you would never catch you was to work with them. And as time passed, I realized I was safe. Nobody suspected me. Not even him, when he returned.

His returned boiled my blood. Here he was. The man who ruined all my life's work. I had to punish him. But how? None of my contacts remained. His death would trigger an investigation. Days and weeks passed as I brooded, contemplating how I should take revenge on him. That he still existed, cheerful as ever, and as remorseless, filled my veins with rage.

Then, a miracle. Not that I believed in such things, which, I supposed, was something he and I had in common. But it turned out that I never needed to come to him. He came to me.

And just like that I got a plan.

I'd been feeling alive again since then.

And look at us now.

Across me sat the love of his life, though he was either too proud or too churlish or even too embarrassed to admit it to her face. His loss. And she'd realized that, too. If she waited for him she might never have the family she wanted, a real family, not just the surrogate one she'd had back in the office. That's just as well. Course, I wasn't so delusional as to believe she was crazy for me the way she was for him, or the way all those puppets had been for me, but far as I was concerned, what she felt for me was just enough. She liked me. She was mine.

We talked. It was a lovely evening. She was a lovely woman. In fact, even as I revealed my intention—slyly, of course, though I thought she'd guessed it pretty quickly, which was smart of her—she remained understanding, trying her best to keep calm and see if both of us could make the best of our situation, make it work. No wonder he liked her. If she didn't have a hand in my empire's downfall I might even have fallen for her for real.

In fact, I really had no plans to kill her. That would be too easy. For both him, and her. No. I was going to marry her and have kids with her and live with her until the end of my days. All the while she had no idea she was never being loved. All the while he watched us together inseparable and cursed himself for being too late.

Live well. It is the greatest revenge.

For the second time, I told her what I wanted.

She said nothing.

I reached her hand.

"I'm asking, what if we went to DC, you and me, together."

**He is mar, people?**


	2. Chapter 2

Defeated.

There was only one word for this.

Defeated.

I knew it the moment she came: Her face shone so bright it couldn't be of happiness. Quite the contrary, hers was the look of people who bore bad news, that they'd failed, that they were about to disappoint me. They tried to compensate the lump in their throats by smiling as widely as they could, from one cheek to another, flashing their teeth open as if they had nothing to hide, as if such petty tricks could fool me. I'd seen a lot of those looks back in the days.

We hugged. We kissed each other in the cheeks. We greeted.

We sat down on a couch.

She spoke.

I did not listen. I pretended to, though; I didn't intend to let her remember me as a sore loser. It's imperative that I come across as someone who understood, whatever that meant, someone accepting, whatever that meant.

I seethed. A righteous fury burned my blood. I'd worked too hard, come too far. And now this? This was what I got? All the things I'd done—it come down to this?

I wondered if he was outside, waiting in their rental car. He must be. He wouldn't miss this opportunity to mock me, to revel in his triumph, to wait for her when she walked out. Then he'd wave at me and smile, even though she'd chastise him for that, because he wasn't and had never been one to care about such things like sportsmanship or being nice. She cared, though, which was she'd come to me in person, in my house, even, instead of texting me the message. I'd rather she texted. Like that, I needn't withhold my rage.

She went on with her speech. In truth, she didn't talk much. But the words rang like gunfire and time always moved damnably slow at these moments. I couldn't pretend this was the lowest moment in my otherwise noble and illustrious life. Waiting for my face to heal had been worse. But I didn't trust I'd ever felt so stunned. I had not imagined she could possibly say no; nor had I believed he could possibly get her back. It's too late, I told myself all those weeks. They couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't.

I'd underestimated them.

An apology concluded her speech. Courteous of her, she didn't ask me to remain friends, just stood up, not wanting to further embarrass me in my home.

I stood. But for a moment, I did not meet her eyes; instead, I looked over the room for something hard, something heavy. Why'd I left my pistol in the bedroom? Silly me. It would have been handy now. First her, and then him, as he'd no doubt be running inside after hearing the sound. Hah. Two birds—two lovebirds—in one stone. But what's done was done.

We shook hands. Hugged. Kissed each other in the cheek.

She told me she'd had a good time. I told her the same, which was all I could do to keep myself from putting my hands on her throat and pressing it until her eyes rolled back in her head. That would be dumb; she had a gun with her.

Eventually she let go. And with a nod she turned around and walked toward the door. Before noon they'd be at the airport, and by sunset they'd be in some resort, stiff, sore, but still maddeningly hungry for each other... And then they lived happily ever after.

Happily ever after?

Live?

I called her name. She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and turned her head, curious. I smiled.

"May you live in interesting times."

**Encore: Again.**


End file.
